


Demonic Symphony

by badly_knitted



Category: Buffy the Vampire Slayer
Genre: Community: fic_promptly, Ficlet, Gen, Music
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-14
Updated: 2016-12-14
Packaged: 2018-09-08 14:35:38
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 323
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8848807
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/badly_knitted/pseuds/badly_knitted
Summary: Angelus fancies himself as a composer of the greatest music ever heard.





	

**Author's Note:**

  * For [morebutterflys](https://archiveofourown.org/users/morebutterflys/gifts).



> Written for morebutterflys’s prompt ‘Buffy the Vampire Slayer, Angelus, a symphony of screams,’ at fic_promptly

When he'd been alive, his favourite music had been the bawdy songs sung in the low taverns he liked to visit. He’d drink too much, sing along, and find some willing serving wench to warm his bed. Back then, that was his life, drinking and carousing every night. He’d never expected anything to really change, until the night he met her, Darla, and his whole existence was twisted out of all recognition. She’d shown him the world in ways he never could have imagined as a mere human, and made him more alive in death than he ever had been in life. 

Even now, he still enjoys those kinds of songs, loves the way the raucous singing and merry laughter turns to screams of terror when he reveals his true face; it’s a rush far better than any he’s ever had from strong drink. He has a power over his victims that is more intoxicating than he would have believed possible when he was a mortal man, and he craves the way it makes him feel as much as he craves the taste of their blood.

They’re his instruments, his orchestra, and he plays them with consummate skill, drawing screams in every key imaginable from their fragile throats. To his ears, the sounds they make before they die are like a symphony; tremulous notes of horror, panic and dread, desperate pleas for mercy, pitiful whimpers and sobs, the thunder of their frantic heartbeats providing accompaniment until they slow, losing rhythm, and finally fading into silence with the soft sigh of a dying breath… Such sweet and beautiful music, ever changing and always new; he could listen to it for the rest of eternity and never grow tired of hearing it.

Some day he’s going to make the whole world sing for him, voice upon voice, echoing across every continent, united in terror. And when he does, he’ll unleash hell on earth.

The End


End file.
